Canine Venality
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: Matt is rather… special. His DNA modifies itself and changes his physical appearance seemingly at will, and though his mutation is harmless to others, he is misunderstood and mistreated. His only hope for survival is a high-ranking mafia affiliate with a short fuse and a love for chocolate.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Canine Venality

**Summary:** Matt is rather… special. His DNA modifies itself and changes his physical appearance seemingly at will, and though his mutation is harmless to others, he is misunderstood and mistreated. His only hope for survival is a high-ranking mafia affiliate with a short fuse and a love for chocolate.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note: **I know I shouldn't be starting anything new, but… the inspiration was strong, and Whimsy _(that bitch!)_ is my puppeteer. –Read and Review.

…

* * *

Waking up was its own form of Armageddon. Pain radiated from the various lacerations on his chest, but it paled in comparison to the throbbing in his head. His wrists and ankles once hurt but were now raw and numb to the pain their bindings had caused. His eyes were virtually useless, covered in a thick dark blindfold that permitted only darkness. He was overheated; though, his dehydrated body refused to yield any perspiration, keeping the sparse fluids where they needed to be.

Nostalgic melodies filled his ears, and when he was coherent enough to identify them, he had to remind himself that they were disembodied, nonexistent –a cruel reminder of what once was but never would be again.

His fingers twitched, tapping the phantasmal buttons of a game he knew he'd never touch again.

He'd been kidnapped and kept alive; he was weak and weary and immobile –tied down and blindfolded and beaten without warrant; he was fed in teasingly small portions –and the one element his captor(s?) seemed to offer as a source of nutrition… was chocolate.

…

He heard the door creak open and listened intently. He tried desperately to determine if someone was coming to feed him or cut him up.

"You're an abomination," a voice accused, accompanied by the sound of the door closing. Footsteps alerted the captive that the speaker was drawing nearer. "A filthy abomination… but you look so human. –I guess this is God's own sense of humor at its best, huh?" He paused, almost as if awaiting an answer, but his own dark chuckle erupted before any sound was uttered from the other. "Stupid mutt." The man's hand heavily collided with the mutant's nude thigh, eliciting a hiss. The man smiled cruelly, leaning over the inhibited being. "Are you hungry? Human or not, I shouldn't let you starve, you pretty little redhead."

Instinctively, the redheaded abomination opened his mouth, awaiting the treat he usually received when offered food; he salivated and snapped at the air, confused when his teeth didn't make contact with the sustenance he learned to crave. He let out an impatient growl and thrashed in his bindings.

His captor simply laughed. "Awe," the man said. "Did the little puppy want some chocolate? Well, I'm afraid I forgot to bring it. I'm sorry," he spoke in a mockingly apologetic tone, and roughly petted the abomination atop the head, earning an animalistic snarl in response. The man's amusement faded, only when he allowed his eyes to rake over the naked body of the redhead. "Then again, you're getting thin –really thin. Like those dogs on Animal Planet. I suppose I can get you a real meal, and maybe untie you… for just a bit. Would you like that?"

A failed attempt to sit up and a small whine was answer enough.

"I'll be back within the hour. Don't go anywhere."

…

It was longer than an hour –it had to have been! The redhead's stomach was protesting its emptiness, and he was weak enough without the obnoxious hunger pains.

Relief was what he felt when he heard that door open once more; his senses went wild when he smelled the familiar treat that sated him daily. But… another smell was present as well, he soon realized; his sensitive nose snuffed blindly.

"This is ridiculous," the unfamiliar voice caused both shock and panic to course through the redhead; his breath caught in his throat and he writhed against the hold of his bindings. "Of all the lousy shit I could be doing, Boss sends _me_ to collect _this_?!" He scoffed at the nude humanoid and easily removed the blindfold, straps and manacles. Instantly, the redhead jerked into an upright position and shoved his head into the stranger's chest, resting it there and breathing heavily, seeking a form of comfort that he found both foreign and necessary.

Much to the redhead's dismay, the blonde stranger gave a rough shove to push him away.

"I don't have time for this shit. Come with me, dammit, or I'll shoot your fuckin' face off." Without further warning, he grabbed hold of the redhead and dragged him along.

…

Once the blonde managed to force the abomination into the car, things grew awkward.

"-I'm Mello, by the way," he said offhandedly, trying to make things a little less uncomfortable, but regardless of his effort, the facts remained: He had a naked redheaded teenager in his car… and that very same teenager was sniffing the leather seats, licking the windows, and touching everything –if the damn kid's nose or tongue wasn't on it, his hands sure as fuck were, and Mello would've begrudgingly _tolerated_ that… if he didn't feel a set of teeth dangerously close to his leather-clad crotch. "Will you fuckin' stop that shit?!" he yelled, finally losing reign over his emotions. His blue eyes blazed with fury and he turned his harshest glare on the redhead.

Once yelled at, the redhead suddenly appeared guilty; his eyes were downcast, shoulders hunched, and he scooted as far from the blonde as possible.

Time moved so slow as they travelled.

Eventually, Mello spoke again. "So, kid, ya got a name?"

No response.

"You mentally retarded or some shit? Can't talk?"

Silence.

"Whatever. Can't say I didn't try being nice to ya."

The redhead shifted uncomfortably, and after a prolonged period of silence, he finally whispered: "Matt. My name… is Matt."

…

* * *

**/First off, Matt's mutation (as well as details about his past) will become evident next chapter. Second…Review?/**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Canine Venality

**Summary:** Matt is rather… special. His DNA modifies itself and changes his physical appearance seemingly at will, and though his mutation is harmless to others, he is misunderstood and mistreated. His only hope for survival is a high-ranking mafia affiliate with a short fuse and a love for chocolate.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Poorly written. More to come. Without Beta. Read at your own risk.

…

* * *

The blonde called Mello coaxed the redhead out of the car and into his apartment with surprising ease. Once inside, Matt stooped as he took in his surroundings carefully before kneeling on the floor and making a face at the new smells he'd yet to identify. After getting a good look at his environment from a lower perspective, he drew himself to full height and scratched his head. –He was still completely bare, and the fact seemed normal to him; modesty didn't seem to exist (and why should it?).

Heaving a sigh, the blonde pinched the bridge of his nose in a show of distress. "Clothes," he said simply, startling his guest. "You're already a mental case; I don't wanna add '_nudist'_ to the list of things wrong with you. Boss isn't going to want a defect." He left the living room to retrieve clothes, coming back a moment later to find the redhead gum-deep in his favorite leather chair. "Fuck no! Matt! Bad! Down! We do NOT eat furniture! Fuck!"

Matt was grabbed by the hair of the head and pulled away from the chair. His stomach growled and he lowered his head, as if sulking. The leather cushions had a pleasant taste and he honestly wanted to chew on them.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? When Boss said I'd be _collecting on a debt_ from a patron, I thought I'd be shooting some fucker in the head and taking what he owed, but… then I was informed that the dumb fuck isn't paying with cash –he's offering _live_ imbursement… which usually refers to a whore or a champion pit bull or some shit, but… -_What_ are you?!" He raised his voice as he directed his attention on the redhead. "Are you some kinky sex slave?! You're all diced up like a bloody fuckin' masochist; you're eating my furniture and rubbin' all over shit. –You on drugs too? What's your deal?"

Matt flinched at the tone Mello used. He lowered his head and let out a soft grunt to signal that he was at least paying attention.

"Say something," the blonde demanded, flopping into the aforementioned leather chair and attempting to relax.

With much hesitance, the redhead did speak. "I am… an abomination –proof of God's sense of humor."

"…so you're a whore?"

Matt shook his head rapidly, soft red locks flailing like the silk strands of a sheepdog. He crouched beside the chair rested his chin atop the blonde's knee, emerald eyes rolling up to the depths of cerulean. "I am… special, in the worst way; I'm a mutt."

A strained silence settled between them, broken by the blonde, of course. "Okay, so you're a fuck nut crazy bitch. Fair enough –Well, I'm getting some chocolate; then I'll probably turn in for the night. Boss wants you delivered early tomorrow. –And for fuck's sake, put some clothes on."

…

That night, while the blonde slept soundly, something phenomenal occurred. The redhead's DNA modified, completely altering his genetic makeup. He dropped to his hands and knees as he clawed fruitlessly at the carpeted floor. His teeth clenched so tight that his gums bled, all in compensation to his face contorting, scoring, pulling, and morphing as his proboscis drew forth into a wet-nosed muzzle; his ears stretched and warped and perked up; his spine lengthened and broad shoulders compressed while his torso and limbs altered in girth and span. The pain was excruciating but didn't last long, and in a matter of seconds, the transformation was complete, his body adorning a shiny new coat of crimson, upturned ears, a wagging tail extending from his tailbone, and four thumb-less paws.

Remaining on all fours, he stretched his limbs and began the search for something to ail his vacant stomach. Much to his delight, he effortlessly picked up a familiar scent and chased down a massing quantity of chocolate. He hopped on the counter and tore into the food, biting and shredding the foil wrappers before getting to the treat inside. Drool dripped from the slackened jowls and black painted lips as he licked and gnawed at the candy, eating his fill before seeking a source of entertainment.

Unfortunately… his canine instincts were in full effect, and without proper stimulation trouble ensued.

…

Morning came, exposing a well-rested Mello drenched in leather. Upon exiting his room, he was shocked and appalled by what disaster met his eyes. Carpet fibers were torn in some places, revealing molded padding beneath; his imported silk damask curtains were ripped form their hangings and tattered all over; the table's legs resembled a chewed pencil, and papers were everywhere. Further inspection revealed that the papers were mostly chocolate wrappers and old newspapers, but that didn't lessen the tension.

Mello fumed, face reddening and fists clenching as he assessed how the mess had come to be. Scanning the living room, his eyes came to rest on a half-naked redhead, fast asleep and wearing naught but a pair of sweatpants. Looking at how innocent the teen appeared, Mello was almost ready to look past the mess –after all, the kid was injured and in a strange place, waiting to be gifted to one of the most terrifying mob bosses in the world.

Again, Mello _almost_ looked past the incident since the redhead was probably wary and confused, but… the moment his sock-clad foot stepped in a cold puddle on the floor and he looked down to see his sock soaking yellow, his resolve changed.

With a nearly inaudible hiss, blue eyes narrowed and the soiled socks were removed and tossed aside. Then the blonde stomped over to the sleeping teen, grabbed his forearm and yanked him off the couch –which was also decorated in claw/bite marks.

Suddenly alert, Matt squatted and bared his teeth, saliva dripping down his chin as he attempted to look menacing and feral. As soon as he caught sight of the angry blonde, his aggression vanished. He lowered his head and murmured a quiet 'I'm sorry.'

Mello's hand twitched, itching to grab his concealed .45; said hand remained stationary as he recalled that Matt was the Boss' property, therefore he couldn't kill him. And as those glistening emeralds looked up and met his own eyes, his resolve further weakened. "Clean up your mess and get ready," he demanded listlessly, taking a seat and propping his feet up on a nearby table. "And if I catch you pissing on the floor, I'll rub your nose in it and kick your ass."

The redhead gave a slight nod and set to work, starting by collecting the wrappers and newspapers. He crawled on his hands and knees, and when both hands were full of trash, he grabbed an additional paper in his mouth before taking his horde to the bin for disposal.

Mello watched silently, still irritated though his belligerence was dissipating. Closing his eyes and taking deep, calming breaths, he addressed his charge. "I'll be handing you off soon. To my boss. Big brutish guy with more whores than a German brothel. So, before you go, I think I deserve some sort of explanation."

"Hn?" was all the response made. Matt continued to clean up after himself, even finding a supply closet, grabbing a cleaning agent, and scrubbing up the areas he'd marked.

Keeping his attention on the oddity he was to turn over, he elaborated: "Tell me about yourself. Who are you? Where'd you come from? Why are you so fuckin' weird? And why were you tied down and cut up like bad sushi?"

Hearing the numerous questions, the redhead paused his actions for a moment before grabbing and rearranging a series of decorative elements he'd knocked over the night before. And when he spoke, his voice was soft but his body was rigid. "My name is Matt. I don't know much, but I spent most of my life in a small room with barred windows. Granted, my mom and dad, are supposedly '_normal_,' I'm not –never was or will be. –On the day of my birth, I was donated for the sake of modern science. Locked in a room. Given toys, books, and games. I should have been happy. People in fancy coats regularly came to talk to me or stick needles in me. I didn't like it. It was scary and lonely. When I was human, they piqued at my brain, attaching electrodes and studying me in such a way that I grew to loathe my human side –Don't get me wrong, I loved learning and playing games, but… it wasn't worth the lack of freedom. Having thumbs only gave me more options to be denied of doing. So, I channeled my time and energy into controlling my physical form –because it's not easy changing from one species to another. I preferred being canine because they expected less of me as a mutt. -Then there were financial problems and I overheard everyone talking about making cut-backs; they couldn't afford to keep working with me _and_ study mermaids. Shortly after, I was taken to live with Old McDonald… Things were fine… until he learned my secret."

"You mean… until he learned that you're crazy?"

"Until he learned that I have the genetics of a lycanthrope."

…

* * *

**/Lame update; poorly written, but more to come. Review. It'll motivate me to write more, and Matt gets delivered to his new home next chappie. -AND PLEASE! Tell me **_**someone**_** reading this laughed at Old McDonald! I know I laughed. Hard. But that was probably because I'm half asleep./**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Canine Venality

**Summary:** Matt is rather… special. His DNA modifies itself and changes his physical appearance seemingly at will, and though his mutation is harmless to others, he is misunderstood and mistreated. His only hope for survival is a high-ranking mafia affiliate with a short fuse and a love for chocolate.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for waiting so long to update this! Procrastination is a bitch, ne? Anyways, for those who were waiting for this, thank CatatonicVanity (MY Miel) for pushing me to update; she's a wonderful friend and if I could, I'd huggle her for always! *smile*

**Oh, and CV! **I'm sorry this chapter is a day later than planned!

…

* * *

"Until he learned that I have the genetics of a _lycanthrope_." The confession was softly spoken but that last word was spit out as if it were poisonous. The despondent expression that crossed the redhead's face only made his sense of loathe more evident.

Crossing his arms, the blonde quirked a brow and stated an observation in passing. "First off, I don't believe in mythological things. Second, I'm sensing some hostility towards yourself. Care to explain? We've got a bit of time to kill before I'm supposed to hand you over."

The redheaded mutant, recently aired Matt, seemed to perk up. He inclined his head and his jaw dropped to reveal a dopey smile; his long, silken, dog-like tongue lolled for a moment before drawing back in as his teeth clamped into a grin. "You... don't think I'm an abomination?" Asking this, his lithe body wiggled, as if trying to wag a tail that was not quite present.

But of course, Mello dismissed the excitement and pretended not to notice the childish sense of longing that flashed behind those eyes. He unfolded his arms and spoke in a bored tone. "I didn't say that. I simply said that I don't believe in werewolves. I didn't hear you howling at the moon or anything; so as far as I'm concerned, you're just a bratty kid who runs the risk of being labeled a nudist. You're a defect. You sniffed my crotch last night and pissed all over the floor. I haven't the slightest clue as to why my boss thinks you're such a prize."

After that, nothing more was said; when Mello tired of the silence he muttered under his breath and went to the kitchen for his favored confection... only to find the remnants of candy wrappers in its place. Anger flooded him as he easily understood that the sulking teen was to blame. As expected, he yearned to plant a bullet into that guilty skull, but... his priorities were aligned, and he knew that business came before pleasure.

Meaning, there was no chance at slaughtering the redhead without his boss's consent.

-Suppressing the malice that threatened to escape, Mello re-entered the living room, only to find the teen crouched next to the sofa, exposed flesh telling gory tales of oppression and abuse.

-It is then that the blonde fully took in the teen's appearance. Dark bruises marred his arms and torso, some shaped like handprints; red, vibrant hair was matted in some places and scalped in others; bones protruded along the spine, ribs and hips. It was a vile and disgusting sight that was further dredged with the mid-healing lacerations upon the teen's quaking form.

And... before he could stop himself, Mello found himself asking: "what did they do to you? You look ready to fall over, dead, like one of those rejects on Animal Planet."

Matt tried to suppress a shiver as he turned to face his temporary holder; his own green eyes were narrowed with a sharp intensity that literally stole the elder's breath away. His glare only hardened as he bared his teeth and answered. "_They cared_..."

At that, Mello suddenly lost the small amount of pity that had formed deep within his stomach; he felt himself release a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and suddenly, nothing seemed wrong about the situation. "That's it?" he asked sardonically, rolling his eyes and resting a hand on his hip.

Slowly, Matt nodded. "They cared... but not about me. They took blood samples. They treated me like a lab rat. They documented my physical and mental prowess... and then they put me away. Sometimes, I think, maybe they forgot about me. And when they came back, I was always... so happy. I'd hug them; I'd lick them; I'd ask questions."

"...so?"

"And though they were never really mean to me... at the facility... they never hugged back; they didn't like my show of affection; and they never answered my questions. The only grass I've ever touched was rough, dry and synthetic. The only attention I ever got was them holding me down for another scan or probe. -I asked twice about my parents; the first time, they told me that my folks were normal but didn't want a mutated child... and the second time, they said I didn't have parents at all, but I don't want to believe that. I want to believe I have a mom... somewhere. And a dad. Even if they don't want me, I want them." The sadness that crept into his eyes threatened to spill as he spoke, but he held back the tears and hardened his expression; his lips pursed and his fingers curled.

Silence loomed. Nobody said anything, and no earnest gestures were exchanged.

As time passed, the redhead's shell of disdain cracked and he seemed to curl up, appearing smaller, meager, and submissive. His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper as he confessed: "they hurt me sometimes. If I didn't eat all my food, they yelled. Sometimes they kicked me or pulled my collar too tight. Sometimes they denied me water. And... sometimes, depending on the staff, they touched-" He flinched during the confession, biting back a show of pain and weakness; he felt vulnerable as he tried to say something he'd never before said aloud.

But his blonde captor turned a blind eye and interrupted with: "Matt, it's time to go."

...

The car ride was nothing special, all things considered. Mello kept one hand on the wheel and occasionally used the other to swat the redhead for misbehaving, though the humanoid wouldn't stop playing with the radio, the air conditioner, or the window.

Thankfully, there was only one potentially awkward moment where the redhead's face ended up in a leather-clad lap; it was intentional, and after moving the armrest and pulling he knees up, he laid down awkwardly, resting his head on Mello's thigh and sighing contentedly. He let out an ambiguous sound before closing his eyes and murmuring: "so far, you're the nicest owner I've ever had. I feel safe with you; like I can fall asleep without waking up with a missing kidney and a some form of biological reassignment in progress."

No further conversation came about, and though Mello was very much tempted to warn the redhead of the trials to come, he said nothing. And before long, he was parking the car in a vacant lot and stirring the odd one back into the world of consciousness.

When most people wake, they sit up and stretch, maybe yawn and rub their eyes, but... when Matt woke up, he crinkled his nose and buried his face against the leathered crotch that was supporting him. This earned him a slap and warranted a soft yelp before he drew into an upright position. "Sorry" he muttered softly, arching his back and swatting at the door.

Mello rolled his eyes as he opened the car door and got out, waiting for the redhead to do the same. When Matt failed to comply, Mello grew frustrated. "Grab the damn handle, lift, and push the damn door open," he instructed, voice gravelly from his irritation.

Slowly, Matt nodded and clumsily coaxed the door open; he slipped out of the vehicle and his bare feet touched the rough surface of the cool pavement. He let out a whelp of excitement, face beaming with pride as he declared: "I've never done that before!"

The blonde forced apathy as he said: "You've never... opened a car door?"

Matt shook his head rapidly, loose strands of red flailing as he did. "Actually, I never have; in fact I sometimes tend to forget that I have these," he said, holding up his hands and wiggling his thumbs.

Of course, Mello said nothing; instead, he turned on heel and began walking towards a large and imposing structure, easily hiding the slight quirk that threatened to tug at his lips. Because, _no_, he wasn't going to _smile_ at the redhead's ignorance. _The kid's nature was not endearing in any way_. (Or so he liked to believe.)

Still, the redhead scampered around the car and to Mello's side, grabbing on of the blonde's arms in both of his hands and trying to walk in synch. "Walk? We goin' for a walk?" he asked, tongue protruding like a Tasmanian Devil and vocal cords tightening to produce an excited whine.

But no answer was given. Instead, the redhead was led to an ominous building and through a discreet metal door off to the side.

"No walk?" the redhead tried again, brows furrowing when he wasn't answered.

The two walked through a labyrinth of halls and doors, stopping upon the entrance of a large, square room filled with furniture and people. A surly man with gangly teeth and a balding scalp was the first to speak up.

"Say, looks like Boss's right hand has arrived..." he joked, earning a round of jeers from his fellow criminals and a scowl form the blonde himself.

"Got a gift for Boss. He wanted this kid, didn't he?" he gestured to his redheaded tagalong. "All I know about 'em, is his odd appetite and numerous injuries. -So, does anyone know what the boss wants with him?" He added the question as an unintended afterthought, that much was clear, but no one commented on it.

Instead, a toothless man with more gut than muscle garbled over a cigar: "Me thinks da bossman vants de kid fer stuff."

"What _kind_ of stuff, you imbecile?!" Mello hissed harsher than warranted; his curiosity brought out the apprehensive, if not slightly manic side of him. (He probably would have been in a slightly better mood if he'd had chocolate earlier.)

Meanwhile, his redheaded charge remained a few feet behind him, eyes wide and nose desperately trying to adjust to the assault on his senses; when his endeavor failed to prove fruitful, he slunk down onto all fours and examined everything from a lower level. His pupils dilated and he lurched forward knocking leather-wrapped legs out from under the blonde, causing Mello to fall and Matt to climb on top of him, straddling him with a smile and a puffed-out chest as he seemingly declared victory.

"Matt!? What the fuck are you doing?!" Mello shouted angrily. On pure impulse, his gloved hands wrapped around Matt's throat and pressure was applied.

But the redhead showed no sign of even acknowledging the threat. Instead, he smiled and croaked out the words: "I don't want to be here. -You like me. And I want to stay with you. I want to give you kisses and snuggles and-" before he could go on, he felt those textured digits release and felt a new pressure on his head; it was hard if not a bit chilled.

Metal.

If the redhead thought hard enough, he'd realize it was a gun, but his impish mind was too busy trying to register an emotion that had flashed behind blue eyes for a brief moment.

-It is only when the cold object drew away and then met him rather forcefully that he paid attention to it. He yelped and drew away from Mello and the others, backing himself into a corner and drawing his knees to his chest; he lowered his head and closed his eyes, waiting for anything and everything.

"This him, really?" a gruff and unsettling voice reached Matt's ears, and the redhead couldn't tell if the tone was an insult on his behalf or not. "I expected him to be bigger, with large eyes and teeth... like a mongloid."

Mello's voice was next; the sounds of movement indicated that he was getting to his feet and dusting himself off. "Rod, this is what you wanted. His name's Matt, and he's a huge pain in the ass."

Laughter. From everyone. Matt could hear it, and he squinted his eyes shut tighter. His respiration picked up and his hands curled into fists, nails biting his palms. Anxiety was kicking in and he wanted to lash out... but the time he'd spent with McDonald had made him cautious and wary.

Because humans were dangerous.

And Matt was not a human. Even when he looked the part, canine blood ran through his veins and his senses ran wild, taking his mind with it. He couldn't focus. He couldn't perceive time normally. He salivated over trivial things. And... more importantly, he was vulnerable to any show of kindness.

He was loyal, and as long as he was given an ounce of companionship, he'd comply with any alpha; such a thing was in his nature.

He was an inhuman thing with human capabilities and consciousness. But he was an abomination as well; the holy water that had been used to cleanse his wounds in the past, it was a reminder.

-Before he could comprehend what was happening, Matt let tears slip at the memories that seemed to flood him; he folded his arms around his legs and buried his face into the material of the pants Mello had given him.

Crying for the first time since he could remember, a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders, and he almost felt relieved... until he felt hands.

On his arms, gripping tight. Grabbing, tugging his hair and forcing him from hiding.

And worse than the hands with callous fingers were the faces that drew nearer, inspecting him like he might be a zoo spectacle to be ogled. "Mello?" Matt tried weakly, voice coming out as more of a squeak than anything else... but the blonde was no longer in sight.

The distant sound of a door slamming revealed Mello's exit, and Matt began to squirm; the loss of the blonde made him feel ill at ease. He bared his teeth and snapped at anything and everything he could. Panic was setting in, and he didn't like feeling helpless.

His struggling only increased when he felt leather straps encase his head and a ball gag slip between his teeth. He whined and thrashed and clawed, but he was rewarded with naught but taunts and jeers and the occasional caress from a seemingly disembodied hand.

His senses left him; he was too panicked to make out faces or voices. He could only focus on scents and feelings, and none of the registration was pleasant.

Saliva was building up and choking him; some of it managed to run out and down his chin, but if did little to console him.

It is only when he physically exhausted himself that his tantrum slowed and eventually stopped.

Fatigued, he closed his eyes and listened... to the sounds of his own heartbeat, so fast. To the sound of his own shallow breaths. To the sounds of motion as his captors moved about, some in slow quick movements and others in heavy lumbering bumbles. After a moment, he was able to make out words, though he barely processed them.

"Cute when he's not freaking out, isn't he?"

"What to do with him?"

"Yeah, why'd you want the little shit, Boss?"

"... Do you realize what he's worth?" an authoritative voice boomed, his surroundings rumbling from the echo, as if a small earthquake had taken place. "Of course I want him. Why? Because I have everything else, and he's like a new toy. So... I contacted the damn research facility, down by Area 51 -you know the place. And I gave them false leads on the existence of merfolk, along with a few million dollars to fund a new project. Shortly after, some nut job named McDonald took him in; the freak believed that the mutation could be physically forced from the mutt, and so the mutt was starved, tied up, cut up, beaten, burned, and prayed for. And... let's just say that McDonald made some bad decisions, fell into debt, and paid with both his life and the mutt." And after his explanation, he laughed heartily.

Several others joined in to celebrate, but Matt just wanted to curl up and whither away. He tried so hard to ignore their mocking voices as they talked so loudly.

"So, boss, what are you going to do with him?"

"Exploit him," was the simple and vague answer.

"Oh, well... you're calling him a mutt, and you talk like he's some freaky phenomenon, like a menstrual cycle or something... but I ain't seen anything other than a sick little kid with brain damage."

Of course, the boss answered again, and it was the last thing Matt heard before he lost consciousness. "Oh, the little bastard's special, all right. He can change shape. And don't let his idiocy fool you; he's a genius with numbers and shit. We'll let him rest up tonight and play with him tomorrow. If he proves to be useless, we'll gas him. Simple as that."

...the following day, Matt awoke to screaming; he could feel his own body twisting, bones popping and torso altering in span and girth. He was shape-shifting... and though it was usually a quick process, this time it wasn't. Instead, it was slow and painful, and he couldn't breathe. His first instinct was to panic, but when his eyes snapped open -even though he was stricken with horror- the sight of a particular blonde brought him peace of mind and he relaxed.

The transformation drew to conclusion and, for the first time, Mello and the others would lay eyes on his ghastly form.

...

* * *

**/...Lame chapter, I know, but I'll try to do the next one better! REVIEW./**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Canine Venality

**Summary:** Matt is rather… special. His DNA modifies itself and changes his physical appearance seemingly at will, and though his mutation is harmless to others, he is misunderstood and mistreated. His only hope for survival is a high-ranking mafia affiliate with a short fuse and a love for chocolate.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note: **Here we go. Thank CatatonicVanity for keeping me motivated! I'll try to keep updates coming in a timely fashion, but I can't make any promises. That said, feel free to REVIEW. (Seriously, I KNOW how many hits this fic is getting. Show some love, ne?)

…

* * *

The teenage anthro's antifreeze-green eyes were wide and wary as his claws extended and fur surfaced in thick patches along his neck, torso, and hips, outlining large portions of his body but leaving his most sensitive areas devoid of obstruction. Pure skin, tainted with scars and bruises and the occasional freckle. His ears flattened and his extended muzzle resisted an impending snarl.

He wasn't sure when the odd muzzle and gag had been removed, but he wasn't comforted by its absence; however, he found an ounce of solace in the deep oceanic blues that bore into him. As well as any drug, that cobalt gaze numbed him to the horror and brought a smile to his lips. Even as unkempt fingernails dug into his fleshy motes and tugged at his fur, he found his head tilting back and his eyes closing. An addictive blend of warmth and insanity bleached his core, and he felt his hips rolling to meet a previously unwelcomed invasion. His claws met the hard surface beneath him, engraving lines in cement as his senses were flooded and cleansed and defiled all at once.

He knew he should be feeling immense pain; this act of debauchery was nothing new to him, but the thought of Mello and his unforgettable gaze tore him from the grasp of reality and allowed his body an inhibition like never before.

A howl tore from his lungs and an intense wave of pleasure left him gasping, unable to breathe and yet unable to stop breathing, panting. Whimpering.

-When he opened his eyes, he realized that one, two, three -seven. Seven men. Seven men were pulling their clothes on.

He remained motionless, thoughts too hazy to focus, though he desperately tried to understand what had happened. But... the moment his eyes fell on an elegant mop of blonde, he was hit with an excitement like no other. His mouth opened wide, teeth bared in childish glee, and he jerked into an upright position... to quickly.

A cry of pain left him and he was forced to assess the damage.

He was sore; movement of any kind would be a struggle. His back hurt. His ass hurt. His... fur was gone. -_When had he reverted back into a humanistic state? _He hadn't a clue as to why he was human-esque at the moment.

Usually, he preferred being canine because it allowed him a freedom that no human could obtain, but now he was subconsciously shifting, and he hadn't a clue what to make of it.

Still, he managed to put his thoughts aside and turn is attention, once again, to the blonde, watching how the slick leather slide up over those toned hips before the laces were tied at the front.

Matt found himself salivating, jaw dropped and shoulders hunched. He wanted to pounce, but his exhausted body wouldn't allow it. So, he settled for bringing his hand to his jaw and riding his face of the drool; then he licked his lips and let that alluring name slip through his teeth.

"Mello..." He tilted his head in a curious fashion and carefully got to his feet. He easily ignored the numerous eyes that followed his every movement (after all, he'd been watched his whole life, so it wasn't anything he was unaccustomed to). He fought with his naturally weak posture and stumbled toward the blonde, beaming brightly when his endeavor paid off and he was within touching distance of the leathered man. "Mello," he said again, this time with a tone that suggested a sense of resolution.

But Mello only quirked a brow and spared a passive glance. "Matt," he countered stoically.

The two shared eye contact for a small eternity before their bubble of intimacy evaporated, being removed from its imaginary existence by a set of hands clamping down on the redhead's shoulders.

"You're to get cleaned up and wait in Boss's office," explained a disembodied voice before forcing the redhead along. Matt emptily reached toward the blonde, hoping for some form of support but receiving none. And when Mello turned away from him, he dropped his head and allowed despair to consume him. The physical aches hit him at full force and he collapsed mid-step, earning a frustrated complaint from his escort, who reluctantly picked him up and proceeded to carry him.

-The bath was a joke.

Whereas the abomination was used to abuse, he was also used to warm baths and gentle hands; he was used to scented soaps and burning incense, but... he was not accustomed to a high-pressured water hose being turned to him; he was not used to icy cold water blistering his skin with angry red patches at the assault.

And when he was decidedly clean, a new pair of sweatpants were haphazardly forced onto him, and he physically recoiled at the lack of care that was given. In the back of his mind, part of him was growling and seething, telling him to retaliate, but a more prominent part was softly chanting a mantra of: 'Mello, Mello, Mello.'

-He was lead to a new room. This one was refurbished with a nice green carpet and a number of decorations lining the walls and shelves. An array of modern furniture littered the floor tastefully, and a generously watted bulb held a steady glow that radiated throughout the entirety of it.

Seeing this kind of set up, Matt almost felt secure. His toes curled pleasantly against the carpet fibers and he vaguely wondered if it would feel just as soft against his palms.

Suddenly, a voice reached his ears, calling him by name. _Calling him. Calling him._

"Matt?"

The redhead knew someone was calling for him, and his first instinct was to draw nearer. His senses were put on standby as his head whipped around to allow him sight of the speaker, and seemingly on their own accord, his legs carried him forth.

He was already in the lion's den, and now he was walking into the death's embrace, it seemed.

Without any form of control, he listened to the speaker.

"Matt," the voice called again.

His body felt as if it was lit on fire, and the only way to make the burn go away was to appease this person.

"Good boy," the voice said when Matt not only approached but also knelt down beside a chair, in which sat his current commander.

He felt at peace when he received praise, and he rested his head against a denim-clad leg. After a moment of silence, his gaze was drawn to the man, and his heart stopped.

The man was larger than life and twice as imposing. Even clothed, his muscles were threatening. His bulbous head and firm jaw spoke of both nonsense and authority. His deep voice dripped with arrogance and demand.

Again, the sickening man called to the redhead. "Matt." The way he said the simple name not only warranted compliance, but also carried subtle orders that Matt tried so hard to decipher. "Such a good boy." But no verbal commands were given. Only more praise. And Matt found himself gradually lured into a sense of security he had no right to possess.

...

* * *

**/Short, I know, but the wording is good, and I wanted to get an update ready and posted. I'll try to write a longer chapter next time. That said, REVIEW./**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Canine Venality

**Summary:** Matt is rather… special. His DNA modifies itself and changes his physical appearance seemingly at will, and though his mutation is harmless to others, he is misunderstood and mistreated. His only hope for survival is a high-ranking mafia affiliate with a short fuse and a love for chocolate.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for not updating sooner. Personal problems, but I won't bore you with the details. So, read and review.

…

* * *

Being capable of changing his physical form at will, Matt could be either human or canine; that much was obvious. But there is a tragic past that comes along with such exceptional qualities.

Imagine growing up with no mother or father. No siblings. No friends. No traditional education. Nothing of the sort. Imagine your first memories consisting of gloved hands slipping a collar around your neck and making it a little too tight. Imagine never once setting foot outside or receiving a birthday present or even being comforted.

Imagine life in a solitary cell that holds a bed, a shelf of books, a single handheld game, two outfits (worn interchangeably), and a tennis ball and a squeaky toy. These are the things that the redheaded lycan was subjected to.

His daily routine consisted of regular check ups, the near-constant eye of a camera, and the probing of needles -some for taking blood, and others for giving injections.

It was no life for a child, but Matt had always been the _exception_.

Because he wasn't normal, he assumed that normal standards didn't apply to him.

-The highlight of his day was always a fifteen minute walk. One of the doctors -usually a tall man named Jim with broad shoulders and thick legs - would always unlock the cell door, step inside, attach a leash to the the mutant's collar, and pull. Regardless to what form Matt was in, a walk was always so exciting. If he were canine, his tail would wag; his ears perked up, and he tried to run ahead. And if he were human, excited babble fell from his mouth like word vomit, and there was a slight skip in his step as he chattered and made wild hand gestures. -_"Jim, they waxed the floors recently!" "Jim, why is the ceiling so high?" "Jim, how blue is the sky today?" "Jim, do I have a middle and last name?" "Jim, guess what I found today!" "Jim, I had a dream last night... about a talking fish, and a magic shoe, and this great big sandwich made of icecream!" "Jim, Jim, Jim." "Jim..." "Jim?"_

Matt loved taking walks, and he loved talking... but he did not love Jim.

Jim was a quiet man who did not appreciate noise or excitability. Jim was the kind of man who had a wife and four kids. Jim was the kind of man who, at first glance, was a good man... but that image would be ruined if anyone had noticed (or cared) that he only stayed late at work to avoid going home; and he only arrived early to clean up the mess from the night before; and he had no qualms with putting his large hands on the growing child for, as he liked to say, '_extended check-ups_.'

Coincidentally, the check-ups became more extensive each night, starting with the redhead being told to strip (as a human) and ending with him hiding under the bed, quivering and whimpering (as a canine). During those sessions, he never could tell when he would shape shift, for his thoughts were always focused solely on the way those fingers felt on his skin.

Touching. Pinching. Intruding.

And it only got worse from there, sending him into temporary shock after a long night of screaming and howling as he was wrongfully violated.

But he could handle that. After a while, it didn't hurt so much. In fact, he almost _liked_ his nightly activities more than his daytime ones.

Because, during the day, try as he might, he couldn't get anyone to pay any attention to him. If he got hurt or acted out of character, they simply noted it on their charts. If he thanked them, they didn't respond with a 'you're welcome.' If he said something about a bad dream or a headache, they responded with little more than '_hn'_ or a scoff.

As a child, the lack of positive regard was confusing and made him upset, leaving him to cry alone for hours and, eventually, to accept the physical intimacy that came from Jim after their walks together.

But evolution is a funny thing, and Matt grew older, hitting puberty and exploding with emotions and desires and questions that would forever go unanswered. He grew to loathe his caretakers. And when Jim would come to his cell, leash in hand and walk impending, Matt began to attack him. His body was filled with a heat and physical contact was the only thing that could ease the new sensations.

He stopped taking walks and instead participated in elongated nights of passion with Jim.

Sometimes he couldn't walk afterwards, but he never said anything about it; he simply shifted into his canine form, grabbed a squeaky toy, and curled up on the floor, wanting nothing more than to sleep... and not wake up anymore.

Because, after a while, he succumbed to loneliness and was ready to give up. He hadn't anything to live for. His caretakers paid little mind to him unless he had electrodes attached; their only interest in him was the constant change in his molecular structure. They wanted him for his DNA; Jim wanted him for his body.

-As time went by, Matt started to act out. He stayed human less and less, preferring a coat of fur rather than flesh. He started chewing on the wooden leg of his bedpost. He started biting his visitors, including Jim. Little by little, he succumbed to his inner canine.

His violent behavior warranted him a chance to become accustomed to punishment. He was put in a smaller room; his toys and games were locked away; and any further aggression was met with corporal punishment.

He was beaten. Hit and kicked. He was given sedatives. He became a the anthro equivalent of a lab rat. He...- so many things.

...but this was back at the facility. And due to the leaked knowledge of studies that proclaimed the existence of mermaids, funds were cut and Matt was given to a religious man named McDonald who vowed that he could not only care for the abominable child, but also _cure_ him.

And so Matt was given away... very much like an old holiday sweater.

And of course, he was frightened at first, who wouldn't be? He'd only ever met a handful of people in his life, and the world beyond his cell was so big; it almost seemed unreal.

-Due to medications, aside from being told that he was going to live with someone who could_ 'make him bette_r,' Matt didn't remember much about his departure from the place he reluctantly called home. He did, however, remember the gut-wrenching fear that gripped him when he opened his eyes and found himself in the embrace of a slightly overweight man who smelled like stale smoke and vermin.

Matt's first intent was to bite, but with the firm arms holding him in place at such an uncomfortable angle, it was impossible to do so. So Matt resorted to growling, which proved ineffective.

Upon realizing his vulnerable human state, he tried to _change_. He waited for the intense but brief pain that would start in his lungs and course throughout his every bone and muscle; he waited for signs of his body morphing into something more threatening than a scrawny teen with an expression of fear and anger, but nothing of the sort happened.

He could feel the man's chest vibrate against him as words met his ears, saying: "I hear your name's Matt, right? Well, Matt, I'm McDonald. Ron McDonald. But, you will address me properly, and you will do as I say. Because I, out of the goodness of my heart, am going to chase the demons out of you. It will be frightening; there will be pain, but when I'm done, child... you will be saved."

The words seemed so vulgar at the time, and the mutant struggled to rid himself of the large man's grip, but to no avail; his resistance was futile and he howled in agony as he felt a hand at his neck, removing the collar that, at one point, almost seemed to be a part of him.

The buckle was unfastened.

The collar slipped off.

And it was tossed aside.

And just like that, years of memories and feelings seemed so far away. And like so many times before, he could only focus on _hands_.

Hands tugging at his clothes. Hands running through his hair. And hands pulling a blindfold over his eyes.

Next thing he knew, he was forcefully shackled to a table and prayers met his ears. He was called an abomination as McDonald (and two other men, neither of which he'd noticed until then) prayed for a higher power to pull the monstrosities out of him. The words ran together in a muted sort of gospel, and Matt felt tears burning his eyes, soaking the cloth that spared him from seeing all the things that he did not wish to see.

Eventually, the foreign hymns came to a halt, and then the redhead could register nothing but a searing hot and blinding pain. The stench of burning skin met his nose and he writhed in place, tugging at the unforgiving bindings that gradually rubbed his skin into a raw mess of blood, sores, and peeling flesh.

When the torturous burning stopped, Matt heard McDonald's voice whisper: "the evils in you are strong, but I'll save you. The devil has surely made you into this monster, but even that does not mean you are free from repentance; I will help you. I will free you of this hell, and God will cleanse what is left of you." Then he murmured another prayer and left.

Matt listened to the fading footsteps before breaking down, sobbing uncontrollably and waiting for impending death.

And after an hour or two, those footsteps returned and McDonald's voice told him to: 'open up.' Confused, Matt complied, opening his mouth and receiving a single square of chocolate. Then the man left again and would return the following day.

-Tortures and prayers and hands and chocolate; this is what became of the mutant's life. No more charts or men in white coats. No more walks or nights of sex, forceful or otherwise. No more handheld games or books.

Every day, it seemed, this would repeat. Tortures ranging from cutting and burning to whipping and beating. Angry words berating his existence and talking of how God's wrath would one day find him -that was common too, accompanied with prayers and pleas for forgiveness. Then, if his newer wounds were in need of being treated, the redhead would be cleansed and doused in Holy Water before being blessed in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Then McDonald and his two helpers (if they'd come that day; sometimes McDonald worked alone) would take leave, coming back later with some form of chocolate confection, be it cake or candy bar.

The faulty nutrition made Matt weaker, thinner, and left him less and less coherent.

-After an undetermined about of time (Days? Weeks? Months? Longer?), McDonald released the allegedly possessed child and removed the blindfold.

"Has Satan relinquished his hold over you yet?" he asked, a lit cigarette in one hand and a silver crucifix in the other. He took a deep drag of the cigarette and offered the cross to the teen. "Here. Take it. Consider it a test," he said. "If you are capable of holding it, then that is proof enough that the evils in you have diminished. However, if you cannot hold it, then I will have to take more drastic measures to rid you of your filth."

Cautiously, Matt lifted a hand to grab the cross, but in his weakened state, even that much was difficult. The cold silver met his trembling hand and he wrapped his bony fingers around it.

The moment McDonald handed it off, he stepped back to observe the shaky hand that was reluctantly lowered under the weight of the silver; then the fingers loosened their grip and the crucifix fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

Matt's dulling eyes met McDonald's for the first time, and he mouthed an apology. "I-I didn't mean to drop it," he said hoarsely, reaching down to pick it up... only to feel a heavy hand land on his shoulder and knock him down. He hit the floor hard and became dizzy and disoriented.

"You mock God? He created you, and you don't even have the decency to be normal! You are condemned to this life of sin, aren't you?! You monster! Abomination! You... truly are... proof of God's sense of humor. -But I'm not ready to give up on you."

In time, the more coherent and human parts of his brain began to recede; he became primal, and it only got worse from there.

...

Thankfully, Matt wasn't at the facility anymore, and he'd been taken away from McDonald's hell as well. He gathered that his new caretaker was a man named Rod Ross, but he was widely referred to as '_Boss_.'

Boss wasn't a kind man. Boss wasn't a caring man. Boss wasn't the kind of man to talk about family or exchange pleasantries. But... he was consistent in behavior.

When Boss was amused, he laughed and grabbed a cigar. And when Boss was angry, he yelled, threatened, or even shot someone. Other than that, he treated almost everyone with a show of indifference.

Everyone except Mello and Kal.

It was odd, really.

Between Boss, Mello, and Kal, it seemed as if there was an unspoken lack of gravity in their time together; it was as if they all shared a secret. An inside joke that they dared not utter to anyone else. -It was only noticeable in the shifty, sidelong glances and smirks that no one else seemed to take part in.

A secret game of sorts.

And Matt wordlessly observed his new caregivers.

Of course, Rod Ross was, as his title implied, the boss, and so Matt, the redheaded oddity with canine genetics, found himself submissive to the alpha's firm demands and plentiful praise. -Matt loved obeying simple commands and being called a 'good boy.' He loved the simple pats on the head. And he loved that he wasn't tied down or locked in a single room for extended periods of time.

And then, of course, there was the sex, which came in multitudes, but Matt could handle the physical prowess. His human side was weak and easily overpowered, but his canine side was excitable and eager to comply... especially when met with the sight of blond hair, blue eyes, lightly tanned skin, and quality leather. The mere fact that the blonde savior was often at such a close proximity was enough to either calm or excite the redhead depending on the situation.

Rod Ross was his boss and caretaker and owner... but Mello was his savior; Mello had delivered him from misery and brought him to a place that was not even described in any book he'd ever read. And of course, Kal, the company bitch (as he was sometimes referred) would bring foods and drinks of the redhead's choosing... but of course he preferred chocolate.

Any kind of chocolate.

Milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate. Cheap chocolate, imported chocolate. Any kind would do.

...

Days passed, and Matt easily adjusted to the environment. It became normal for him to lounge around in naught but a pair of sweatpants and the (optional) studded collar and wristbands, licking melted chocolate from his fingers and baiting someone to play with him.

Sometimes an old baseball was thrown and Matt would turn canine to chase it; and other times he'd remain human but drop to his knees, head tilted to the side in a puppy-like manner as he waited for acknowledgement.

And then he'd see Mello, all beauty and death and decay. Blood on his face and body from a dangerous dose of lethal work, and residual gunpowder on his gloves.

And Matt would tackle him in either form, tongue lolling and body twisting with excitability. If he was a dog, perhaps he'd drool, but he was usually human-esque, and his voice was just a bit too chipper as he'd speak, saying: "Mello... Mello. Mello?"

Like a parrot, he took to mirroring words, though he was more than capable of speaking normally.

And like a puppy, he remained excited and hyper and ready for anything.

But like a human, he was capable of exceptional cognition and proper hygiene.

All in all, his multiple caretakers considered him a worthy companion.

All in all, they had successfully domesticated something that was once thought to be mythical.

-Matt considered himself happy. Especially when Mello was around. He acknowledged and appreciated everyone else (mainly Boss) too, but the blue eyed blonde had captured his attention wholly.

'Mello' was a lot of things. 'Mello' was Matt's savior, favorite word, first and last thought of the day, and pretty much everything else.

And... ultimately, Mello was what Matt grew to love and longed to understand... even though Mello always had his mind on other things.

...

It was a typical Tuesday for Matt at the warehouse he happily called home. Almost nobody ever showed up on Tuesdays, so a very human redhead sat in Rod's lap, eyes wide and teeth bared in a childish smile as he watched the burly man glare at a nearby monitor.

"Problem, Boss?" he asked slyly, expression warping into somewhat of a leer.

Rod simply nodded and reached for a cigar that rested on a table several feet away.

Matt took that as his cue and got to his feet, stumbling gracelessly over to retrieve the cigar and a box of matches. He handed the items to Rod and watched the man light up and calm down. After a moment, he firmly patted Matt on the head in a show of positive regard before saying: "You know why I wanted you, right?"

Matt's brows furrowed and he tried to sum up an answer. In the end, he shrugged and smiled brightly, opting to appear oblivious.

And Rod supplied the answer for him. "You're here because I wanted you. I paid people to fake the studies on fish people; I paid a lot of money for it too. And then the research facility that had you just... gave you away... to a person I picked myself. -He was a crazy bastard, but you probably already know. -And, after a while, I decided to pick you up and claim you as mine. That's it."

"You sent Mello for me," Matt said, fur climbing up his arms and face drawing to a point as he began to turn canine. His unhealthy body had filled out and his fur coat was shiny and immaculate.

"Not exactly," Ross said simply, snorting at the sight of the lycan's ears flattening and his tail tucking between his legs. "I wanted you because I know what you are, where you came from, and what you're capable of."

In the blink of an eye, Matt was fully human once more; he straddled his Boss's lap and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. His antifreeze-green eyes slipped closed in a show of desperation as he whispered: "tell me... please. I'll make it worth it, Boss." He rocked his hips for emphasis and silently pleaded for answers he couldn't get elsewhere. "Tell me I have a mom and dad. Tell me that I'm something other than an abomination. Tell me... that I'm worth more than a sex toy."

Silence drew over them like a blanket until Matt began to rock his hips once more, body trembling with the strong need to be given answers.

And, after a deep groan of appreciation, Rod complied. "Your name... was Mail Jeevas. You were born as human as everybody else. But your parents were in debt, so they sold you when you were only a few days old; they sold you... to the Keehl family. And the Keehls, bless their fucked up views on _religion_ and _science_ and how the two can coexist -they donated you... to a medical research facility under the promise that they return you at the first signs of progress. -Well... kid, they made progress before your first birthday."

"But... what did they do? And if that's true, why was I never given back to the Keehls? What happened to my mom and dad?"

Rod narrowed his eyes at the teen who shut up instantly. Then he continued. "They turned you into something more than human, that's what they did. And you never returned to the Keehl family... because they were murdered. -Well, everyone except the youngest heir to the family business."

"What's that have to do with anything?"

"Simple... Mello... is the last member of the Keehl family, which means... he _should_ be your rightful owner."

At those words, Matt's heart swelled with pride and he smiled brightly. His eyes were evergreen and hopeful. And he remained happier than he ever had been... until Rod spoke again.

"But that's not an issue. Mello doesn't want you. He's not allowed to."

Matt flinched at the cold yet humorous tone that was used. "What do you mean...?"

And Rod laughed. "Matty, boy -_or should I say: Mail?_ -The world is not a simple place. You've been bought, sold, given, traded, and stolen... like an object. And though you don't regard yourself as a human, humans are also treated like objects."

"I don't understand...-" Matt began, only to be cut off with:

"Matt, don't you get it? I own you... even though Mello _should_ own you... because I own Mello also. What's mine, is mine. And what's his, is also mine. Get it?"

...and Matt had nothing to say. He did not affirm or deny his understanding. His head was full of thoughts that had never before crossed his mind, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to think or feel at this news.

Because he used to be human. And now, after everything he'd gone through, the one he cared for most... was in a bind similar to his own.

...

* * *

**/Okay,-I know I need to fix a handful of errors, and I'll do that probably tomorrow. (I skimmed it for errors, but I was distracted and half asleep, so I didn't do a good job. LOL) -In any case, I hope it makes sense. Now... REVIEW./**


End file.
